


A Midnight Tea Party

by yozra



Series: Tales from the Tea Room [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 19:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18288953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: A simple story consisting of natters and banters and reminisces during the early hours of the night.





	1. 12:00 am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for those of you who, like me, have fallen a little bit in love with this universe.

Once the clock began to hoot at its longest, Akaashi turned off the music and walked over to the front door to flip the sign to ‘closed’ and to draw the heavy blinds over the glass. Mondays continued to be the least busy of days and today was no exception, so Akaashi had freed his evening employee (tonight being only Hanamaki) an hour earlier than usual. Although over two months had passed since the tea room’s abrupt rise in patronage, Akaashi was still adjusting to the tweaks in management, going so far as to employ a new waiter who was scheduled to start in a week’s time.

With the clearing up finished, he set the water boiling and stepped back against the counter to peruse the shelf of teas; the bells on the door quietly chimed to announce a visitor.

“Sorry I’m late. I meant to get here earlier to help but, uh, I fell asleep.”

Akaashi continued to scan the jars as he replied, “Everything has been cleared. It was a slow evening and most of the customers left by eleven.” He picked out an earl grey and also pulled out lavender, deciding on making a tea that would gently keep his evening (or morning?) companion awake. “I’m open to rescheduling, perhaps during the day when it might be easier for you to—”

“I’m here now. I’m not so old that I can’t do the odd all-nighter.”

Iwaizumi came around to the back of the counter. From the corner of his eyes, Akaashi could see him scanning the casings.

“Still making too much for a Monday,” Iwaizumi muttered, a note to himself; it seemed his animal instinct had yet to adapt to the new demands.

“They will keep until Wednesday and Shirofuku-san will be pleased.”

Akaashi brewed the tea while Iwaizumi warmed the food, both working in silence to gentle clinks and clatters, shuffling to and fro from the table by the window until they stood admiring their midnight tea laid out on the table; a steaming pot the centrepiece surrounded by a milk jug and sugar bowl (to complete the look, even if neither of them took sugar), an odd assortment of lemon tart, plain scone, fruit cake and banana muffin (to start with), cutlery set at their places and empty plates and cups and saucers at the ready. Akaashi went to turn off a few of the lights – the main ones by the counter and some of the lamps near the door in case people walked past and mistook them for being open – and he locked the door for good measure. When he returned to the table with Iwaizumi already seated, the shadowed mood felt unnatural yet comfortingly befitting.

They hadn’t met outside of work since the time they ate yakitori, and with their increasingly busy schedules Akaashi forgot about talking to Iwaizumi until one morning he realised cherry blossoms started to dot the bare branches and he had replaced his thick coat with a light jacket. Although Iwaizumi didn’t pressure, either silently or bluntly, the need to set aside time was pressure enough, and eventually Akaashi expressed a desire for them to properly talk.

It was Iwaizumi who suggested a Monday after they closed. This choice continued to puzzle Akaashi; there were other more reasonable time frames – any time during the Tuesday for instance, or starting from next week the one weekday evening he planned to take off.

“You want to say something?” Iwaizumi asked as he looked out of the window, resting his head in his hand.

Akaashi admitted the truth. “I was wondering why you insisted on talking at such a late hour.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. He turned back to the table, although his eyes were on the teapot than on him. “It didn’t feel like a daytime conversation, and I didn’t want to rush through it. It also takes me back to the good old days.”

Akaashi thought back to their university years where they would drop into cafes surrounding their campus open long into the early hours of the morning to accommodate students who took to studying instead of sleeping, or anyone who had been out drinking and were waiting for the morning trains to run.

“I agree it does.”

“You know, I didn’t realise until Oikawa mentioned it, but we’ll have known each other for ten years come April.”

A quick calculation proved the statement correct. “That’s quite the milestone.”

“Hold on—”

Iwaizumi left his seat and made his way across the room, disappearing through to the back. During his absence Akaashi poured tea into both cups and added a dash of milk to his own, silently swirling the spoon to create the light golden brown of his preferred taste.

Iwaizumi reappeared and returned, placing an elongated box onto the table, the word ‘aluminium foil’ printed across in large blue lettering.

Akaashi picked up the box. “What’s this?”

“I looked it up – aluminium or tin’s what you give as a ten year anniversary gift.”

Akaashi stared at the box and glanced up at Iwaizumi (now settled back into his chair again) straight faced and revealing no clues, leaving Akaashi to weigh out the odds of whether he was being serious or whether it was meant as a joke.

He came to the conclusion it was the latter.

“I’m not sure it counts as a gift if I paid for this. Also, I don’t think I can accept it with the knowledge that Oikawa-san will have more than a few words to say if he finds out you have been handing out wedding anniversary gifts to a friend.”

“I bet you five thousand yen he threw a party for him, Bokuto and Kuroo for their ten year anniversary and ordered personalised and matching straps or pens or whatever.”

Akaashi considered the plausibility of Iwaizumi’s suggestion. “I refuse to take part in that bet.”

Iwaizumi snorted and reached for his cup, taking a sip of his black tea taken straight.

Rattles pulled Akaashi's attention away from the table, the handle jumping up and down with (futile) attempts to open the door. A few seconds of quiet followed, which was broken by an urgent rap against the glass, continuing as Akaashi cautiously walked up to the door and hooked his finger under the edge of the blinds, peering out of the window to see the face of their unwelcome intruder.

“It’s Hanamaki-san,” Akaashi said, unlocking the door.

Hanamaki helped push the door open. “I'm glad to see you! I saw the lights and reckoned you’d still be in – sorry, I left my phone out back—”

Akaashi stepped aside to allow Hanamaki to rush past to the kitchen, then continued to hold the door wide open for the others.

“Are you all going out?”

“Yeah, we wanted to meet outside of work for a change,” Konoha said as he walked in. “Someone had the grand idea of walking up to Asakusa for some night hanami, until they realised halfway across the bridge that they didn’t have their phone.”

“Hanamaki did tell us to go ahead and find a spot while he retrieved his phone,” Shirofuku said, following him inside.

Matsukawa entered last, closing the door behind him. “Hanamaki’s sense of direction is questionable even with a phone in hand. Without one it’s possible we wouldn’t hear from him for a few days.”

Konoha snorted. “Yeah, he’d probably end up somewhere stupidly far - like Kyoto.”

Shirofuku glanced across the room, taking in the sight of the slightly different atmosphere and stopped when she came across the surprise visitor. “Oh, Iwaizumi-kun, you’re here too!”

At his name Iwaizumi got up. “Didn’t they say something like tonight’s the last day for hanami?” he asked, coming to join the huddle.

“Supposedly,” Matsukawa said. “The forecast for tomorrow is wind and rain.”

“What’re you doing here, Iwaizumi? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Hanamaki approached the group and received a glare from Iwaizumi.

“Why do you all assume I’m an old man?”

Akaashi noted everyone glance around at everyone to see if anyone would answer, only for the room to remain silent. He thought about answering, something along the lines of Iwaizumi being a morning person (it was the truth), but Iwaizumi got there first.

“Just so you know, saying nothing says a lot.”

Hanamaki patted him on the shoulder. “If you didn’t want an answer, you shouldn’t have asked the question. But _I_ want to know the answer to _my_ question – what are _you_ doing here?”

Feeling sorry for Iwaizumi, Akaashi offered a partial explanation. “Both Iwaizumi-san and I have been busy as of late, so we decided we would catch up on recent events.”

Hanamaki glanced from Akaashi to Iwaizumi, and then looked to the others, raising his hand. “I vote we forget the hanami and stay here instead.”

“There’s so much food left over!” Shirofuku said, spotting the cakes still in the casing and also raised her hand. “We can help clean that up.”

“I did think it’s a little too cold for hanami.” Matsukawa didn’t raise his hand, but he had a small smirk on his face that was his sign of a vote.

Konoha’s sigh was overly loud as he rolled his eyes, though a hint of a smile betrayed his amusement. “I’m not exactly gonna go by myself, am I?”

Iwaizumi crossed his arms, a faint scowl between his brows. “All of you? Gate crashing? Really?”

“But you would miss the cherry blossoms,” Akaashi pointed out; he didn’t understand why they would want to pass up the chance to view the last of the flowers before having to wait another year to see them again.

“We can see cherry blossoms any year,” Hanamaki scoffed, already unravelling his scarf. “What we can’t see is whatever it is you two have going on here, bonding over tea and cakes and mood lighting – anyone seeing this would think you two were on a date, though let’s be honest, chances of that are now pretty slim considering the number of times Oikawa’s mentioned you on his blog, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Besides, _Akaashi-san,_  we haven’t done anything as a team since Christmas and I find that quite atrocious. Could I have your opinion on the matter, Matsukawa-san?”

“Team building is an effective method of enhancing social relations,” Matsukawa said, pulling off his coat. “Which in turn would create an even better work environment for our new recruit next week. Shirofuku-san?”

Shirofuku giggled, dropping her bag onto the nearest table and beginning to unbutton her coat. “An excellent assessment, Matsukawa-san, although my personal opinion is that we should respect the person behind the baking by eating their creations at their freshest. What do you think, Konoha-san?”

Konoha shrugged off his coat. “It’s cold outside, there’s already food and drink here, and we’re nosey employees. Discouraging us only encourages us.”

Hanamaki was already making his way to the counter, calling to Konoha on what blend he wanted, while Shirofuku peered at Matsukawa’s phone as he announced that the latest weather forecast was predicting rainfall to start earlier and Shirofuku-san, wouldn’t it be a shame if they were unable to come in on Wednesday because they were bedridden due to being stuck outside in the pouring rain, to which came the reply why yes, Matsukawa-san, no one would want to risk upsetting their employer that way like a certain someone did a couple of months ago.

Akaashi was forming a polite but firm way of driving out his employees. He didn’t like playing the owner-slash-employer card, but this situation demanded it, especially as Iwaizumi had gone out of his way to return here after hours.

“Hanamaki’s right you know,” Iwaizumi muttered next to him. “We haven’t done anything as a team in a while.”

Unfortunately, Iwaizumi had a point. Three months was a considerable amount of time to pass without any activity when up until the beginning of the year they had always organised at least one monthly get together.

Of course fate would make arrangements for him and Iwaizumi to encounter an obstacle the day they were to finally dispel patches of their past that had been obscurred by fog. With a small sigh, Akaashi made the reluctant decision to put aside their personal affairs.

“I’m sorry, Iwaizumi-san. It appears we’ll have to reschedule.”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “It’s not a big deal. I‘m not expecting you to talk in front of these lot.”

It wasn't that he had anything to hide from his employees. However, Akaashi imagined that with an audience any important conversation that arose would be rushed and condensed before straying onto topics that would be considered more interesting. As a (decade long) friend, Akaashi owed Iwaizumi more than recapitulations of his past.

“My concern is less to do with revealing my life history and more about not being able to give you the full attention or detail you deserve.”

Iwaizumi’s “huh?!” was half a laugh and poked fun at Akaashi’s concern. “Why would I complain when with these lot around I’m bound to get more out of you than us talking one on one. Actually, I kinda want to see how well you hold up to their grilling.”

“Hey!” Hanamaki called, interrupting Akaashi’s question on what he meant. “You two slackers by the door there – chop chop! The tables won’t set themselves!”

“Setting tables is your job!” Iwaizumi called back, rolling up his sleeves (Akaashi assumed it was so he could set the tables, and not so he could strangle, or punch, or grab Hanamaki by the collar to head butt him.)

He didn't think anyone except Iwaizumi would be interested in hearing what he had to say. About fond memories of their youth. About the period of time their lives temporarily diverged. 

About his old relationship that gripped him and dug its claws at every recollection in an attempt to ensnare him in the past, and about his new that set his being alight and scorched the hand into flinching back, releasing its hold that became a little weaker, a tick shorter as time fuelled the flame within.

And of course there were areas in Iwaizumi's life that were also shrouded, onto which Akaashi wanted to shed some light. As he thought about their original plans for the night, he arrived at a quiet realisation.

“Iwaizumi-san—”

Iwaizumi turned to Akaashi, hand on the back of a chair.

“I don’t want this to drag any longer.”

Iwaizumi grinned. “Then don’t let it,” he said, and began pulling out the chairs.

Something washed over Akaashi – relief perhaps, streaked with glimmers of anticipation, but the feeling was short-lived, quickly muddying when he noticed Hanamaki place the jars of tea in the wrong order. Akaashi set out to rectify this blunder right away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stories to be included here were intended to remain quietly in the background with maybe the odd passing mention. But of course, as soon as I said there will be no more multi-chaptered fic, they all banded together to form this. I suspect the updates will be a little slower this time, but I hope you’ll stay until the end.


	2. 1:21 am

Iwaizumi was sitting at one of the tables having done his part by shifting and stacking all but six chairs and two tables now lit up at the centre of the room; the others were tucked away and blanketed by shadows. He had done this between stolen sips of lukewarm tea to dodge the disapproving looks Akaashi would throw at him if he noticed (the plate of desserts had mysteriously cleared itself up.)  
   
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Konoha clearing up the table they had been sitting at earlier.  
   
“Hey, that’s for Akaashi,” Iwaizumi called to him.  
   
“Oh, right. Akaashi.”  
   
Konoha held out the box of tin foil when walking over to Akaashi, who didn’t look too impressed.  
   
“Iwaizumi-san is joking, it can be returned to the kitchen.”  
   
There was a moment of thought from Konoha, and then – “I don’t get the joke.”  
   
Akaashi filled Konoha (and everyone else who had stopped what they were doing to listen) in on what had been happening before they entered.  
   
Hanamaki tutted and shook his head. “Withholding crucial information is unforgivable, Iwaizumi. But we’re willing to let it slide if you bake a cake for your anniversary and another as an apology to us.”  
   
“I’m not baking anyone a cake.”  
   
A hand on his heart, Hanamaki closed his eyes with a grave look on his face and said, “Iwaizumi, it wounds me that you would deny us our chance to celebrate the jubilant occasion that is the decade-long friendship between our employer and his right-hand man.” Matsukawa stopped by with a tray of plates and cups and patted him on the shoulder, nodding solemnly.  
   
“I’ll pick you up cakes from the convenience store on Thursday,” Konoha said in passing from his return from the kitchen and came to sit beside Iwaizumi.  
   
Iwaizumi glared. “I know you’re saying that to rile me up.”  
   
Not that Iwaizumi had anything against cheap cakes, but why settle for less when he could bake something better?  
   
“Or maybe you’ll come in on Friday morning to find the tables covered in tiny, colourful, one-hundred-yen cakes,” Matsukawa said, setting the tables.  
   
“Those aren’t proper cakes!”  
   
“If it looks like a cake and it tastes like a cake, it’s a proper cake, Iwaizumi-kun,” Shirofuku happily called to him.  
   
He knew they were doing it deliberately. He also knew they would follow through, so he folded.  
   
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You get a cake.”  
   
“Two cakes – and go all out with the flowers, yeah?” Hanamaki winked.  
   
Iwaizumi put down another reason on his list of why he should headbutt Oikawa.  
   
“You know, I always wondered how you two became friends,” Shirofuku said, carrying two plates of desserts for each table; she set them down and drew the chair on the other side of Iwaizumi. “I remember you saying you met at university, but I can’t see either of you going out of your way to talk to one another.”  
   
Hanamaki brought over two pots and set them down at the centre of the table, sliding into the seat beside Shirofuku. “Yeah, I think we at least deserve to know your origin story!”  
   
“It’s not very entertaining,” Akaashi said, taking the seat opposite Iwaizumi. “And we also played volleyball together every week, it was only natural we would get to know each other.”  
   
“Though without it we wouldn’t have been friends,” Iwaizumi pointed out.  
   
“Probably not,” Akaashi agreed.  
   
Matsukawa slipped into the final seat. “Why, what happened?”  
   
“Nothing happened,” Iwaizumi said. “We just didn’t get on.”  
   
“Ah, the classic start of many a solid friendship,” Hanamaki nodded sagely. “Go on then – take it from the top!”  
   
When Iwaizumi was asked the question of how he and Akaashi met, he always replied at volleyball club. This wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t an exact truth; they had actually met five minutes before the introductory meeting for volleyball club, just outside the central university building by some vending machines.

 

*

 

“Excuse me.”  
   
Iwaizumi had just put change into the machine when he heard the phrase coming immediately next to him.  
   
His first thought was: who’d go around interrupting someone who had just put in money, followed immediately by: no one, they’re probably talking to someone else hanging around. The cluster of machines was a popular meeting ground for students, conveniently placed outside of the main building on campus and closest to the gates, and it was even busier now that a lot of the afternoon classes were over; chances were the ‘excuse me’ he heard was aimed at someone else. So he ignored it, pushed the button for a black coffee that clattered to the bottom, slid his hand under the flap to grab the warm can, and straightened up to nearly go running into a guy standing there staring at him.  
   
The guy’s expression was unreadable, his look piercing (and he was at least a couple of centimeters taller which didn’t rattle him. At all.) Iwaizumi glanced around to make sure it was him he was staring at and none of the other students behind, then turned back to him.  
   
“Were you talking to me?”  
  
“I was wondering if you could direct me to the West School Building, I can’t seem to be able to find it.”  
   
He then noticed the campus map in his hand. Must be a fresher, he thought, looking at the map upside down to find the building.  
   
“That’s cause you’ve got an old map here. They finally finished renovating this Number Two Building and changed the name.”  
   
The guy looked down at the map for a good five seconds, glaring at it like it had offended him.  
   
“Thank you,” he finally said, and walked in the direction that was decidedly not to the west but east side of campus. Iwaizumi stared blankly after him and then shook his head, thinking he must be really bad with directions. He also began to head the same way – not because he was going to help him, but because that was where he needed to go.  
   
(Though he wasn’t so much of an asshole that he wouldn’t help the guy if he realised he was heading the wrong way.)  
   
He kept a careful distance; the fresher up ahead was beginning to look like he was the one guiding Iwaizumi. To the same side of campus. To the same building. Up the same stairs and okay, Iwaizumi was getting a little freaked out. He stopped at the top of the stairs when he saw the fresher enter the classroom he needed to go to and – well, damn. The guy was also coming to the volleyball meeting.  
   
Most of the people were already there sitting and waiting, and Iwaizumi went to pull up a chair next to a group of second years he already knew. He shot a glance at the fresher who sat in one of the chairs towards the front, talking with a third year who was introducing themselves and welcoming him to the club.  
   
Five freshers and one second year had signed up this season, two more than the previous though only time would tell whether they would stay. Quick introductions were exchanged, the main organiser of the club gave a rough outline on when and where they played along with some of the events throughout the year, and a final word that the club was supposed to be lighthearted and fun and not obligatory if work was getting out of hand – forty-five minutes and they were done.  
   
“I thought you were heading to the West School Building,” Iwaizumi said to the fresher (and dammit, he should have remembered his name), who was slotting the badly-photocopied club guide into a clear file.  
   
The fresher looked up. “I’m heading over to the building now to meet with my personal tutor.”  
   
“Right. That makes more sense. Thought you were just bad with directions.”  
   
The look the fresher gave the map earlier was now directed at him, and Iwaizumi felt like both he and his choice of words were being analysed.  
   
He wasn’t sure he liked it.  
   
“I look forward to our first game and getting to know you.” The guy’s tone was flat, suggesting he was churning out the phrase out of politeness. He zipped his bag and walked out.  
   
Iwaizumi sure as hell didn’t feel the same.  
   
He didn’t the next day on Wednesday after they bumped into each other on the third floor of the main building when class ended. Nor on Thursday when he got out of the elevator to the faculty floor and spotted him waiting outside the exact room he was heading to (it was more amazing they weren’t asking for the same tutor.) He definitely didn’t on the Friday, when they ran into each other at the top of the stairs from opposite tracks of the station, and Iwaizumi muttered an excuse that he needed to drop by the convenience store so he wouldn’t have to walk the ten minutes to campus with him.  
   
By Saturday, his suspicion that the universe was playing some cosmic joke on him was confirmed when he was sitting by the window in the quiet canteen occupied by a handful of students dotted between the empty rows of tables, and the guy came over, tray in hand.  
   
“Hello again. Did you also have lessons this morning?”  
   
Iwaizumi had to give it to him for actually coming over to greet him when he could have just as easily settled himself somewhere out of sight behind the pillars or screens. And that grated him even more because now his stupid move yesterday made him out to be some kind of chicken.  
   
He paused mid-shovelling rice into his mouth. “Do you think I’d be here I didn’t?”  
   
The guy didn’t answer straight away, and Iwaizumi hated that he was being looked at as though what he said was so complicated it needed that much thought.  
   
“It’s entirely possible considering university cafeterias are accessible to all and used by many a businessman for a cost-effective lunch. It also wouldn’t surprise me if students came regardless of whether or not they had lessons, especially if they lived in central Tokyo – buying lunch here could potentially be cheaper than buying ingredients to make lunch if they lived on their own.”  
   
And the guy was a smartass. “What are you, an economics major?”  
   
“It wouldn’t take a person majoring in economics to come to that conclusion, but in answer to your question – no, I major in literature.”  
   
And then he had the audacity to sit in the seat right in front of him, eating in silence with a book in hand for the duration of their lunch which Iwaizumi thought was the most awkward thing he had to sit through, and that included having to work on a project with his ex for three weeks during his first year.  
   
At least when Sunday evening rolled around Iwaizumi knew to expect him and it didn’t even faze him that they were put on the same team.  
   
His opinion of him flipped about five points in, when he spiked the ball from what was easily one of the smoothest and most accurate setups he had ever received.  
   
They won the point. And the whole round.  
   
A couple more matches and rotations later and everyone was packing up, drifting out of the sports hall.  
   
“Hey, Akaashi right?” Iwaizumi called to Akaashi who was about to walk out of the door; Akaashi stopped and turned.  
   
“We played a good first game,” he continued when he had caught up. “You set really well – played in high school?”  
   
They began walking out of the brightly-lit building into the night. “Thank you. And yes, although our team never went beyond the prefectural qualifiers. Your spikes were very impressive, I wish I had the same power.”  
   
Iwaizumi scrunched his nose. “Power’s easy to build. Matching tosses to abilities, that’s not something you can pick up so easily.”  
   
“If you say so.”  
   
Even though they were in central Tokyo, the streets were emptier at nine on a Sunday, and they carried on towards the station without another word.  
   
“You doing anything after this?” Iwaizumi blurted, filling in the silence with the first thought that came to his head. “I was thinking of grabbing some ramen.”  
  
Iwaizumi glanced across to watch Akaashi’s cool expression crack and reveal surprise at the offer.  
   
“I could certainly do with some food.”  
   
Iwaizumi was also surprised that Akaashi agreed, but unlike Akaashi he (hoped he) kept his own expression neutral. “There’s a great place a couple of streets away. We can go there.”  
   
“Okay... Iwaizumi-san.”

 

*

 

At that time, Akaashi couldn’t quite place his finger on the reason Iwaizumi disliked him, although it was easy to sense from the gruff attitude. Then again, he had held similar contempt towards Iwaizumi, initially coming to the conclusion that he was brusque and obtuse.  
   
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” Iwaizumi said to him, snapping him out of his thoughts.  
   
“I amended my opinion of you very quickly.”  
   
Hanamaki looked from Iwaizumi to Akaashi and back again. “What opinion?”  
   
“That I was stupid, basically,” Iwaizumi said with a shrug. “It’s all right, I figured. And he wasn’t wrong – I can admit I had my moments.”  
   
“Can you confirm this?” Matsukawa turned to Akaashi.  
   
Akaashi was considering whether that was true, but the others seemed to take his silence to mean an affirmative.  
   
“Give us an example!” Hanamaki nudged Akaashi in the ribs.  
   
“I don’t care what you tell them,” Iwaizumi gave permission, leaning back into his chair with his arms crossed, the ultimate appearance of nonchalance. “I know what I did and nothing’s so bad I need to hide it from anyone.”  
   
Akaashi opened his mouth, thought twice about what he was about to say, and then proceeded. “Actually, there is one incident you aren’t aware of.”  
   
He received a frown. “Which one?”  
   
“The night before summer break at the club drinking party.”  
   
“I didn’t—” Iwaizumi paused. “Oh, that time everyone got hammered.”  
   
“Everyone except Akaashi it seems,” Matsukawa corrected.  
   
“Yes, a lot of people lost memory of the evening. It was my first true experience with an inebriated Iwaizumi-san.”  
   
“Tales of drunk Iwaizumi,” Konoha said with a grin. “Excellent.”  
   
“I’m not that different!”  
   
“Not at first glance,” Matsukawa said with a pointed look. “But you do literally say everything on your mind—”  
   
“You have remarkably good control of your temper—” Shirofuku agreed.  
   
“And every idea is a great idea,” Hanamaki finished off. “Let me remind you of my first Christmas celebration with you guys where you said – and I can quote you on this word for word – ‘Hanamaki, my Christmas present to you will be to make you croquembouche that’s ten metres tall and I will dedicate it to you in the Guinness world records.’ Konoha and Akaashi had to physically hold you back from making your way back here.”  
   
Aside from the inaccurate imitation of Iwaizumi, Hanamaki had got it word-perfect; Akaashi remembered that celebration well and it easily fell within the top five ventures attempted by drunk Iwaizumi.  
   
“That was one time!” Iwaizumi turned to Akaashi. “I didn’t do anything that stupid at uni, I never drank enough!”  
   
Akaashi stared at Iwaizumi.  
   
“Akaashi-san disagrees,” Matsukawa (accurately) interpreted.  
   
“Akaashi-san remembers,” Hanamaki (correctly) agreed.  
   
Shirofuku peered around from behind Hanamaki to ask, “Share your story, Akaashi-kun.”  
   
He looked to Iwaizumi.  
   
Iwaizumi was back to his earlier look of indifference, although there was slight apprehension in the way he tightened his crossed arms. “Give it your best shot, I can’t have done anything that bad.”  
   
Akaashi almost pitied Iwaizumi’s ignorance of his symbolic drunken episode. He also wished he could say ten years was long enough for the embarrassment he felt on Iwaizumi’s behalf to have faded, but as he recalled the memory he found it to be as clear as the day it happened.  
   
To be fair, he was partly to blame for being unable to stop him. However, upon seeing Iwaizumi’s confident defiance, it was about time he knew of the bright idea that struck him while at a cafe in the early hours of the morning, waiting for the trains to start running.

 

*

 

“You know, I didn’t like you at first.”  
   
Akaashi was seated at a table, having escaped the team’s dawdling – or in most people’s cases, drunken staggering – to the third location of karaoke. As he believed no one should have to be tortured by his zero musical talent, after confessing his inaptitude to Iwaizumi, who incidentally expressed the same lack of talent, they said a quiet word of parting to the organiser, slipped away before hearing a reply, and took refuge at the nearest cafe still open to wait out the three hours before the first trains.  
  
He took a sip of his coffee which helped (or at least gave the impression of helping) to speed up the transition from tipsiness to sobriety.  
   
Iwaizumi had drunk much more than him, but didn’t look it. In fact, he appeared and sounded as he always did, a little rough around the edges but otherwise composed. However, there was one big tell that he was indeed drunk (which Akaashi discovered after the first time their volleyball club went drinking) and that was: he couldn’t seem to be able to stop himself from saying his thoughts out loud once his alcohol consumption exceeded a certain level.  
   
Unsure of how he should answer this particular confession, Akaashi kept his reply neutral.  
   
“I see.”  
   
“You seemed kinda uptight,” Iwaizumi continued, as though Akaashi had asked Iwaizumi to reel off a list of his shortcomings. “And a smartass. And a little weird. But after that first game and we got to know each other a little better, you were all right.”  
   
Truthfully, he hadn’t thought much of the older student either until he had seen him use the toss he had thrown to land a powerful spike. So really the feeling had been mutual, but Akaashi thought Iwaizumi might take more offence if he were to make a similar confession.  
   
Still unsure of how he should answer to the fact that their friendship was classed as mediocre, he kept his following reply simple.  
   
“I’m glad.”  
   
“You’re real quick though. On the ball. And pretty fine in the face, too.”  
   
Hearing his strengths was no more comfortable, though it did make Akaashi sympathise with Iwaizumi for his inability to restrain his thoughts, and Akaashi had to wonder – was he aware of his behaviour or did the drunken memories oxidise with the alcohol?  
   
“Akaashi, you have an eye on anyone right now?”  
   
The floater of a question caught him off guard; considering the lead-up, it could potentially carry on to further discomfort if a more emotional confession was lurking ahead.  
   
Not that he didn’t think Iwaizumi was unattractive – far from it. But his type? Not quite.  
   
And as it was the first time they were mentioning anything remotely to do with romance, he was also mildly surprised by Iwaizumi hinting that his sexual preferences inclined in a certain direction.  
   
“Not at the moment, no.”  
   
“That’s good,” Iwaizumi said with a few nods of approval, another unexpected turn in conversation. “You wanna keep it that way. Don’t be like me and find someone who’d make things weird if you broke up with them.”  
   
It dawned on Akaashi that perhaps Iwaizumi was trying to open up about an interest in someone, maybe seeking advice from Akaashi, which wasn’t a good idea when his romantic encounters were limited to one fleeting relationship in high school.  
   
Equally, he didn’t want to discourage him either.  
   
“Are you perhaps interested in someone?”  
   
“You know Takahashi?”  
   
Takahashi was the third year who was currently helping to run the club – likeable, responsible, good natured and (to confirm Akaashi’s suspicions) a young man.  
   
Iwaizumi was watching him intently for his reaction to this confession.  
   
He didn’t have anything to be concerned about.  
   
“I personally wouldn’t classify him as my type, although I can see the appeal. He comes across attractive in both looks and personality.”  
   
Akaashi drank his coffee and glanced around the room, pretending he wasn’t aware of Iwaizumi continuing to watch him as he tried to figure out the true meaning of his answer – that his preferences, too, leaned the same way. When his travelling gaze returned to Iwaizumi, he appeared more relaxed.  
   
“No? What’s your—”  
   
The merry buzz of the cafe was ruined by a sudden discord of guffawing and snickering and cackling, and Akaashi glanced over his shoulder to see a group of three students by the door, loudly demanding that in order to receive payment, the troubled-looking man behind the till had to choose who had the best hairstyle.  
   
“Don’t tell me – someone like that?”  
   
Akaashi turned back to Iwaizumi with what was hopefully a frosty glare. “I feel insulted you would even suggest I would be attracted to people so rowdy, garish and a general inconvenience to the public.”  
   
“You know what they say about opposites.”  
   
“Please don’t joke about such things.”  
   
Akaashi drew the conversation back to the direction before they were interrupted. “About Takahashi-san – what will you do?”  
   
“Nothing maybe, I don’t want it affecting the club.”  
   
“Takahashi-san is an approachable person, but he’s reserved when it comes to his personal life. I don’t think any harm would come from confessing to him, except a slight bruising to your ego if the answer was unfavourable.”  
   
Iwaizumi seemed to be thinking that over, then he reached for his phone.  
   
Akaashi said the first thing that came to mind. “I wouldn’t recommend confessing over the phone.”  
   
Iwaizumi eyes flickered up, though they didn’t reflect anger Akaashi assumed he would see. “I’m not that stupid. I’m just looking up ways.”  
   
There was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut as Akaashi watched Iwaizumi return to his phone. Iwaizumi was a sensible person who tended to give some thought to his actions rather than rely on spontaneity, so this feeling that something may go wrong was new and anomalous.  
   
Several minutes of quiet passed between them.  
   
“Okay, Akaashi,” Iwaizumi announced. “Let’s go.”  
   
The feeling around his gut tightened and Akaashi felt like he was about to become entangled in a troublesome affair.  
   
“Where are we going?”  
   
“Where do you think? We’re gonna find someplace that sells flowers.”  
   
Akaashi wasn’t sure how many more times he was going to be startled this evening, but he felt it should have worn off by now. This time though, he released the weary sigh he had been holding back.  
   
“Iwaizumi-san, why would you need flowers?”  
   
“Because that’s what it says here.”  
   
Iwaizumi held out the screen and Akaashi leaned in to read the small font – best presents for confessions – and ranking in at number one: flowers.  
   
“I’m not sure that’s a reliable source—”  
   
Iwaizumi was already draining the remainder of his coffee while typing into his phone; he slammed the cup down, making Akaashi wince, and stood up, again typing something into his phone as he walked off; Akaashi grabbed his bag.  
   
“There’s one still open in Roppongi,” Iwaizumi said as they made their way to the till.  
   
“The trains have stopped—”  
   
“We can walk. It’s not that far from here, forty minutes – fifty at most.”  
   
An idea flashed in Akaashi’s head of calling it a night, leaving Iwaizumi to continue on his mission alone. They weren’t exactly close friends, the temptation was there.  
   
But Akaashi wasn’t so cold hearted as to leave his (love-struck?) friend to face this without someone taking care of him. So he silently followed him, out of the shop, down the road, and all the way to Roppongi while listening to a monologue on what flowers would work best and the different meanings of flower language. The shop was indeed open (Akaashi had half hoped it was closed due to unforeseen circumstances) and Iwaizumi bought a large bouquet from the florist who seemed unperturbed at two young adults walking in past three in the morning.  
   
Akaashi made the assumption that Iwaizumi would stop there, until Iwaizumi declared he was going to the halls right now to confess. After much persuasion about how Takahashi would be sleeping and his halls having a curfew – both with the ability to lower his chances of his confession being successful – Iwaizumi settled on sending the flowers to arrive in the morning the same time he would arrive at the halls so he could make his confession in person (why he didn’t just take it home with him Akaashi didn’t know, but he was unable to reason with him on this point.) The only thing Akaashi predicted would happen was that Takahashi would be confused to find a large bouquet because Iwaizumi would be nursing a hangover, but trying to convince Iwaizumi was becoming a worthless endeavour, so he reluctantly called the organiser for his address. Afterwards, he had grabbed a taxi, escorted Iwaizumi back to his apartment and eventually made his own way back home.

 

*

 

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if he was hot from embarrassment or cold from dread as he tried to recall the memory to the sound of chuckles and giggles.  
   
How had that evening gone? He remembered the first couple of hours at the first izakaya – everyone had still been there. He remembered making their way to the second izakaya after a few members drifted off (Takahashi included), but somewhere between the first round of beer and third glass of sake his memory became hazy until it fizzled out into a massive blank that lasted until lunchtime the next day, when he had gotten up to answer the door with a headache trying to split open his head, Akaashi standing outside with a bulging plastic bag of hangover remedies, energy drinks and bananas.  
   
“Akaashi. Tell me you made that up.”  
   
The loaded glare thrown in reply was enough of an answer.  
   
Iwaizumi meekly accepted this missing piece of his past with a groan into his hand. “I remember him telling the story of receiving flowers from a secret admirer.” Iwaizumi peered between his fingers. “That was me?”  
   
Akaashi gave a nod. “Yes it was.”  
   
“And that explains why you always kept tabs on the exact number of drinks I had every time we went out.”  
   
“To avoid a recurrence of that night, yes.”  
   
“Why didn’t you tell me?!”  
   
“I assumed you would rather be ignorant than mortified.”  
   
Konoha was the first to calm down. “So tell me – which one of you’s the sempai again?”  
   
“Iwaizumi!” Hanamaki called, looking way too happy. “You and Oikawa are made for each other.”  
   
His mind went blank as he tried to decode what that meant, then realisation knocked into him; Iwaizumi still continued to gripe about Oikawa’s confession with the flowers, and if Oikawa found out Iwaizumi had been one step ahead of him—  
   
Iwaizumi thrust himself forward, porcelain rattling as he bumped the table edge; Hanamaki started laughing again, leaning back and keeping his distance while positioning himself behind Shirofuku.  
   
“Hanamaki. Don’t you fucking dare tell him.”  
   
“Like I would be dumb enough to revoke my free access to your food,” Hanamaki said, then looked over to Matsukawa. “Matsukawa?”  
   
“If any one of you mentions this to Oikawa, Hanamaki is the one who suffers,” Iwaizumi threatened before Matsukawa could say anything, making sure to meet everyone’s eyes.  
  
Matsukawa raised his eyebrows and looked to Hanamaki with a small smile that made anyone on the receiving end wary. “That’s an interesting rule.”  
   
Hanamaki’s grin disappeared.  
   
“Matsukawa, don’t _you_ dare.”  
   
“If Iwaizumi-kun were to accidentally become drunk no one would be blamed.”  
   
The humour in the room sobered.  
   
“And we’re reminded once again why Shirofuku’s the one we all need to watch out for,” Konoha said, staring at Shirofuku as she laughed and drank her tea. He turned to Iwaizumi. “So what happened after that? Did you actually confess?”  
   
Iwaizumi thought back to his second year. “I lost interest in him during the holidays. Guess it was enough to send the flowers.”  
   
“I have a newfound respect for Akaashi,” Hanamaki announced. “You on the other hand have dropped ranks to below Oikawa.”  
   
“Is that wise?” Shirofuku turned to him. “I thought you didn’t want him revoking your free access?”  
   
“And welcome back to the top, my friend, but Akaashi’s still ranked higher because of what you put him through.”  
   
Iwaizumi glanced to Akaashi and their eyes met; Akaashi might have had to survive the hassle for one night, but in the shared look both acknowledged the truth – Iwaizumi had suffered worse, for longer.  
   
“Hanamaki, sometimes you could use a little discretion,” Matsukawa said, his smile a cross between pitying and pained.  
   
Hanamaki blinked back at him. “Why? What did I say?”  
   
Shirofuku patted him on the shoulder and Konoha got up from his seat. “I’m refilling the pots. You, Mr. Tactless Big-Mouth, can come and help me. Everyone, give me orders for what you want to drink next.”  
   
The dip in mood began to climb back up to the earlier good humour as Konoha and Hanamaki bickered between themselves, and Matsukawa and Shirofuku continued to draw information out of Akaashi on what made him not give up on Iwaizumi.  
   
A stream of buzzes began to vibrate from Iwaizumi’s pocket; he didn’t have to check to know who was calling (with scary good timing.)  
   
“Let me take this—”  
   
He made his way out of the room into the darkest corner of the kitchen before accepting the call.  
   
“What do you want, Asskawa?”  
   
“ _Iwa-chan, that’s no way to greet someone who is considerate enough to give you a call so they could let you know they have returned home safe and sound!_ ”  
   
“You being considerate would be not waking me up at stupid hours of the morning.”  
   
“ _I do it because I – hold on, you sound far too chipper for someone whose replies are more caveman, why are you still awa – oh._ ” Oikawa’s voice softened at the last word spoken in realisation. “ _It’s tonight, isn’t it?_ ”  
   
Iwaizumi leaned back on the counter, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah.”  
   
There was a long pause. “ _Sorry I interrupted._ ”  
   
Iwaizumi thought of the four other people who had barged in to settle themselves into front row seats; he would fill him in later. “You didn’t. We were taking a break.”  
   
“ _If it’s looking to be a long night we don’t have to meet up later today_.”  
   
Iwaizumi couldn’t help his lips curl up at the concern. “No, we’re good. Your face is good entertainment and I could do with a laugh.”  
   
“ _I’m going to interpret that as setting your eyes on the perfection that is my beautiful face gives you immense delight.”_  
   
“Get some rest, you’re becoming delusional. And you need your beauty sleep.”  
   
“ _Besides the unnecessary remark, I am genuinely touched by your thoughtfulness—_ ”  
   
“Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m doing my part so people who can’t avoid seeing your face don’t suffer more than they already have to, me included.”  
   
“ _So rude! And for that you no longer get to hear my dulcet tones to soothe your nerves. Good night, Iwa-chan_ —”  
   
“Hey, Oikawa.”  
   
The noise from the other end quietened though faint breathing could be heard, a sign they were still connected.  
   
Finding out that he was more similar to Oikawa than he thought reminded him again of that day when Oikawa had thrown himself (literally) at Iwaizumi’s feet, and he opened his mouth.  
   
At the last second, the shape of his apology changed.  
   
“Thanks. For calling.”  
   
He wasn’t sure how accurate his imagination was, but he pictured Oikawa with an affectionate smile, one that suggested he knew that wasn’t what Iwaizumi had meant to say, knew what Iwaizumi had really meant to say, but he would turn a blind eye because none of that mattered any more.  
   
“ _Good night, Iwa-chan._ ”  
   
With a deep inhale he turned off his phone and stood in the dark, then gradually released his breath. On the next inhale, he pushed himself off the counter to face the rest of what the night held in store for them all.


	3. 2:13 am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone’s interested, I spent:  
> One week in despair over starting this fic  
> One week flirting with a new au  
> One week getting it together and stitching up this chapter v(￣∇￣)v

Akaashi was grateful that persuasions for more of Iwaizumi’s student antics switched to commentary on his current state of romantic affairs after he disappeared to speak with his not-so-mysterious caller.  
   
“They’re adorable together,” Shirofuku said with an envious sigh. “And Iwaizumi-kun is so sweet on him.”  
   
“Replacing a part of their name with ‘ass’ and yelling they’re a pain in one really are tried and true signs of affection,” Matsukawa agreed, nodding in understanding.  
   
(Akaashi always wondered how Matsukawa’s remarks managed to be dripping in sarcasm without sounding at all sarcastic.)  
   
“Iwaizumi-kun only says that because it’s how he hides the fact he finds Oikawa-san attractive from behind.”  
   
Matsukawa opened his mouth, his struggle on angling his response written plainly across his normally uninterpretable face.  
   
Konoha, with a teapot in hand, stopped on his way to the table and stared at Shirofuku. “I can’t believe you just said that.”  
   
Hanamaki walked past and set the other teapot down before grabbing the last scone and taking a bite. “I can’t believe Matsukawa’s floored,” he said casually with his mouth full. He dropped into Konoha’s seat and slapped Matsukawa on the arm with the back of his hand. “You’re losing your touch.”  
   
Iwaizumi reappeared from the kitchen. With a quick glance in his direction, Akaashi had to agree with Shirofuku’s (first) comment; the small ways in which Iwaizumi displayed his growing fondness never ceased to surprise him. Even now, Iwaizumi had left the table with a ghost of a smile where there would have been a complaint, and returned with his tension melted, visible as a faint lingering ember across his face.  
   
“What’re you all talking about?” Iwaizumi asked, sitting back down in his seat.  
   
“Not Oikawa’s ass, that’s for sure.” Hanamaki said, winking at Akaashi; Akaashi wondered why it was aimed at him. “We were about to discuss what’s next on the agenda after your failed romance. Konoha – go!”  
   
Konoha threw him a look of “why me” as he settled himself next to Akaashi and suggested nonchalantly, “A successful one?”  
   
“Wouldn’t that be Oikawa-san?” Shirofuku asked.  
   
“Yeah, we don’t want to jump straight to Oikawa yet!”  
   
“Hanamaki, do we really need to talk more about him,” Matsukawa said flatly.  
   
Banter between the four fired up, and Iwaizumi looked to be leaning as far back into his chair as possible in case a clear view of his face triggered a fresh line of interrogation.  
   
Akaashi took one of the teapots and began to pour the tea, starting with Iwaizumi, while the others dodged around his movements. One by one he filled the empty cups and as he did, he turned Hanamaki’s initial question over in his mind.  
   
“I could recount mine.”  
   
Akaashi’s voice came out indifferent, though his chest was pounding before he spoke those words, his suggestion an invisible switch that turned down the noise, and he felt everyone’s eyes on him as he filled the last cup - his own.  
   
Hanamaki – his laugh uncharacteristically shaky – was the first to attempt breaking the weighty atmosphere. “Why the long face? You’ve got a great thing going with Bokuto, gotta be grateful for the failures that led you here, right?”  
   
“Hanamaki’s got a point.”  
   
Iwaizumi’s agreement didn’t surprise Akaashi in the least and he huffed a sigh. “You say that because you never took a liking to Ushijima-san.”  
   
Iwaizumi scowled back at him, casting a dark look that would have made anyone else back away. “You know why.”  
   
“Ushijima-san?” Konoha asked.  
   
“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Akaashi said in unison with Iwaizumi, and shared with him a look.  
   
Shirofuku tapped her lips in thought. “I feel like I know that name from somewhere…”  
   
“Probably the volleyball player on the national team,” Matsukawa suggested, to which she nodded and exclaimed a quiet “ohhh” in recognition.  
   
“It would be kinda cool to have the same name as a star,” Hanamaki began, “but also having to watch people get disappointed when they found out they weren’t meeting the famous one would kinda suck.”  
   
“He _is_ the famous one,” Iwaizumi snapped.  
   
Konoha turned to Akaashi. “The Ushijima Wakatoshi.”  
   
Akaashi nodded. “Yes.”  
   
“The national volleyball star, Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Hanamaki reconfirmed. “Whose match I watched on TV last weekend, Ushijima Wakatoshi.”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
Akaashi had always avoided mentioning him by name wherever possible, and after they had separated he had never once said the name out loud until the day he revealed to Bokuto his connection with the sportsman.  
   
The number of times he had said the man’s name in his head however—  
   
“Damn.” Konoha interrupted his thoughts. “How’d you manage that? Through volleyball?”  
   
“Interestingly, no. It was purely coincidental and no volleyball was involved.”  
   
It had begun at the end of his first year with a whimsical thought of switching courses that strengthened with each passing day of his second, until he was seriously contemplating making the switch even if it meant adding an extra year of studies to compensate for lost units. After several discussions with tutors once the second term started in September, he had been introduced to a third year majoring in the subject he hoped to transfer to.  
   
(Naturally he had mentioned his deliberation to Iwaizumi, who didn’t fail to pick up on the fact that Akaashi was hoping to switch to the very subject he had been accused of majoring in a few days after they first met.)  
   
His first meeting with Ushijima followed his first meeting with the third year, at one of the family restaurants near the university’s closest station.

 

*

 

“Thank you for giving up your time to meet with me today.”  
   
With their hour up and all his questions answered, Akaashi began tidying away his stationery back into his bag.  
   
“What kind of sempai would I be if I didn’t help my new little kouhai?”  
   
The third year, Tendou Satori, was a bright if a little eccentric student whom, if he hadn’t been informed upfront, Akaashi would have considered to be a student of the arts. After their conversation however, Akaashi could better understand Tendou’s reasons for choosing economics; he had the ability to think critically and was quick to analyse and predict - with extreme accuracy from what Akaashi could gather.  
   
“So did I convince you to come over to the dark side?”  
   
“I’m not entirely sure which aspect of economics is ‘the dark side’, but you have further encouraged me to put forward my application.”  
   
Tendou cocked his head so far to the side Akaashi was surprised it didn’t crack. “You know, you remind me a little of Wakatoshi-kun.”  
   
“Who is he?” Akaashi asked, not knowing anyone by the name.  
   
“A friend – he’ll be along soon.”  
   
“I didn’t realise you had another appointment. I won’t keep you”  
   
“Now you should definitely meet Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou said, straightening up. “You’re both the same amounts of serious and I bet it would be fun to watch you interact. Though you’re more—” Tendou poked the air a few times, thinking of the right word. “ _Spikey_.”  
   
Akaashi’s first thought was that the words ‘serious’ and ‘fun’ contradicted each other. His second, that he was slightly curious as to who this ‘Wakatoshi-kun’ was, but he also wanted to leave and continue his application on the transfer process. He decided he would at least stay until he finished the last of his tea, and if Tendou’s friend arrived he would greet him briefly and then take his leave.  
   
Five minutes later, it turned out he did know someone by the name of Wakatoshi. When he saw Tendou wave his arm in big swoops to someone behind, he turned to find an extremely tall, strapping man who turned several heads as he approached their table. Anyone interested in volleyball knew this rising star and with increasing appearances on television he was beginning to make a name for himself to people who had no knowledge of the sport.  
   
“Wakatoshi-kun, meet my new little kouhai, Keiji!”  
   
Ushijima turned to Akaashi and gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Ushijima Wakatoshi.”  
   
Akaashi wasn’t one to become star struck, but when there was a player he admired coming to sit next to him he was more than a little in awe.  
   
Akaashi bowed his head. “Akaashi Keiji. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  
   
“I’m going to get another drink – coffee for you, Wakatoshi-kun? Keiji?”  
   
Akaashi refused the offer as Ushijima accepted, and Tendou wandered away humming to himself, leaving them alone together.  
   
“I apologise for intruding,” Akaashi began, Ushijima’s gaze sliding onto him. “Tendou-san was kindly explaining the details of his course. I would have finished our meeting earlier had I known you would be meeting with him – I know your time is valuable.”  
   
There was a short pause before Ushijima answered. “What do you mean?”  
   
“I’m aware of who you are, Ushijima-san. As a sportsperson, free time outside of practices must be limited, and in this instance you were planning to spend it with Tendou-san – hence my apology.”  
   
“You are not intruding,” Ushijima asserted, his tone calm and clear.  
   
Akaashi fell quiet (was almost silenced) by the power emanating from him and his words. Ushijima was only a year older, but his presence was far larger than anyone else’s in the room – anyone he had ever met – and being pinned under his stare made him restless; under the table, he began winding and unwinding the strap of his bag around his hand.  
   
“Why are you changing your course?”  
  
The question sounded like Ushijima was asking for the reason he was changing his life course instead of a simple university degree.  
   
“I realised economics would be a more practical choice for seeking employment,” Akaashi answered truthfully.  
   
“Did you not consider this before applying to university?”  
   
The way Ushijima asked was not in the same tone as his tutors or his classmates who had been critical of his change of mind; Ushijima was genuinely curious.  
   
“I wasn’t sure of what I wanted to do,” Akaashi admitted, not that he still had any idea of what he wanted to do. “Have you never reconsidered becoming a professional volleyball player?”  
   
Ushijima’s reply was almost instantaneous. “No. I have always been certain volleyball is what I would do.”  
   
It must be nice, Akaashi thought, to know exactly what you wanted and aimed to get out of life. Ironically for him, he was decisive only when he had a split second to make the decision. When he had all the time at his disposal the answer distanced itself further and further out of reach. His own mind was constantly at war with itself about the future, countless possibilities branched into countless more possibilities without ever knowing which choice would be the right one.  
   
“You must make your decisions through your heart than your head for you to be so resolute,” Akaashi finally concluded.  
   
Ushijima looked at him questioningly. “It is my head, not my heart, where I make my decisions.”  
   
“I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t think through your decisions,” Akaashi quickly clarified. “I meant to say you don’t allow yourself to be entrapped by your thoughts. You seem to be the kind of person who wouldn’t waver from their path even when encountering a surprise, whereas I would likely spend my time questioning everything – from what would be the right course of action to the cause of said surprise.”  
   
This time Ushijima fell quiet for a few moments. “Although I would not deviate, I would be willing to incorporate a surprise into my path if I thought it beneficial.” It was said almost as a note to himself.  
   
“I knew you two would get along.” Akaashi looked up at the third voice, finding Tendou stood a couple of feet away with a grin.  
   
“Tendou-san, I want to express my thanks for all your help today and you allowing me to stay, but I really don’t wish to impose on you any further.”  
   
Tendou hummed, half in disappointment. “If you say so. Let’s swap numbers at least, it’ll be easier to keep in touch than email.”  
  
Akaashi pulled out his phone and opened up his contact list.  
   
“I would like for us to exchange numbers as well.”  
   
Akaashi’s head snapped up.  
   
“Ooooh?” Tendou’s grin grew wider and he leaned in to examine Ushijima. “Finding someone interesting – that’s unusual for you.”  
   
Akaashi tried to phrase the question “why” in a way that wouldn’t come off as rude. He needn’t have worried himself because Tendou was then asking, “Why would you want Keiji’s number?”  
   
Ushijima looked straight at Akaashi as though he had been the one to ask. “Because I would like to ask you out on a date.”

  


  


  


In all his years living in Tokyo Akaashi had never dined anywhere higher than the standard restaurant floor of a department store, somewhere between the eighth and tenth he imagined – until tonight, where he was seated above the sparkling city on the fiftieth. He had been up skyscrapers and towers with floors higher than this so it wasn’t from the shock of the view (although it was no less awe-inspiring), but those visits had been a sweeping blur obstructed by a sea of people. Here, he could dine in peace and take his time to appreciate the food, and the view, and of course the company.  
   
Akaashi had spent the week trying to imagine the manner in which his date with Ushijima would unfold, the man’s messages only relaying the minimal amount of information of time and location.  
   
Their night so far mirrored these messages. He wouldn’t go so far as to say their silences were uncomfortable – he was actually glad his companion didn’t feel the need to fill gaps with idle chatter. A part of him however whispered accusations that they were unable to carry a conversation because they were from different leagues.  
   
“You look distracted.”  
   
Akaashi peeled his eyes away from the view back to Ushijima and remembered why he had initially turned his attention to the outside – pressure from the fixed look coupled with an unreadable expression.  
   
“I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just couldn’t help admiring the view.”  
   
“That makes two of us.”  
   
The corner of Ushijima’s mouth twitched, which Akaashi put down to the trick of the light from the flickering candle. Still, it didn’t stop his body from reacting, a blush creeping up his face at what should have been a cheap pickup line sounding real and complimenting when it came from the stoic star.  
   
Akaashi decided to muster up the courage and ask what he had been thinking the whole night. “Ushijima-san – I’m genuinely curious as to why you have taken an interest in me.”  
   
Ushijima didn’t bat an eyelid. “You are reflective, rational, honest and composed – all qualities I find attractive in a partner.”  
   
“How could you acquire all that from an exchange lasting less than five minutes?”  
   
“Even one minute would have been sufficient.”  
   
A waiter stopped by to break their rally and place two steaming cups of green tea on the table.  
   
Akaashi wanted to disagree with the personality assessment. Reflective and rational were positive attributes when they were curbed within a specific range, which wasn’t the case with Akaashi with his tendency to think excessively beyond reason. On top of that, if he was truly honest he would say the first thing in his head instead of comparing all outcomes, and as for composure it was only applicable externally. Internally, he was often in a state of anxiety.  
   
He thought, and rethought, and overthought Ushijima’s reply while they drank their teas, while putting on their jackets, and as he followed Ushijima to the large lobby with a window for a wall displaying an extended view of the city he paused his thoughts at the realisation Ushijima had paid for the whole meal.  
  
“Akaashi.” The sound of his name made him straighten. “I would like for us to be exclusive.”  
   
Akaashi’s heart skipped a beat at the direct confession, though he kept his eyes ahead. He almost asked “are you sure?” but it was a pointless question; Ushijima wasn’t the type of person to say something out of uncertainty.  
   
“It’s very sudden,” Akaashi replied. Wasn’t there a protocol for exclusive dating, one that said you must date a certain number of times beforehand, or reach a certain level of physical expression?  
   
“Is it necessary to purposefully delay an action because of what is considered the norm?”  
   
While Akaashi was considering his answer, Ushijima continued. “In the past I thought of romance to be a waste of time, a distraction from things that mattered. I recently came to the conclusion that this idea was childish. Relationships are a means for people to grow, they have the ability to impact and enrich their lives.”  
   
Akaashi automatically looked up to the sound of Ushijima turning to face him, still nothing of his expression giving his emotions away. “You are the kind of person who would be a positive influence on my life.”  
   
“I don’t know if there is anything I can offer you. I’m not exceptional enough to provide anyone with any sort of influence, least of all someone of your stature.”  
   
“Modesty and diffidence are alike, but it is the former that is admirable.”  
   
“And if I lean towards the latter, would that dissuade you from your confession?”  
   
Ushijima fell quiet to examine him, to seriously turn the question over in his mind so that he could answer in all truthfulness.  
   
“No. I can give you reasons to dispel your doubt.”  
   
It was one thing to see, to _feel_ , Ushijima’s confidence in himself and another to hear of his confidence in Akaashi. He couldn’t fathom how Ushijima could be so certain he was the right person for him, could select him to essentially shape him and his future; he wasn’t sure he could handle the responsibility.  
   
But for once, Akaashi put an end to the internal dialogue and went with his instinct.  
   
“I do not need an immediate answer—”  
   
“I would like for us to be exclusive as well.”  
    
Ushijima didn’t move, making Akaashi doubt the tone or body language used when making the reply; Ushijima stepped forward into his personal space.  
   
“Then may I?”  
   
Akaashi managed a nod and immediately closed his eyes, trusting Ushijima would lean in; their lips touched, a chase kiss scented with green tea. Nothing fierce, nothing electrifying, and – for a lack of a better word – _nice_. Akaashi preferred this to the inexperienced and rushed kisses of high school, or the bland and unmemorable kisses from his first year. It felt steadfast. Dependable.  
   
Ushijima parted first and the warmth on Akaashi’s lips cooled quickly.  
   
“I should have mentioned – your personality is not all I find appealing.”  
   
This time, the twitch at the corner of Ushijima’s lips was unmistakably intentional.

 

*

 

Perhaps it was because he now had Bokuto, but the sting Akaashi used to feel from recalling these memories was now like tracing a finger over a fully-healed scar, the touch evoking phantom pain.  
   
Their first kiss – pleasant at the time – was also devoid of the spark of his first kiss with Bokuto – and actually every kiss with Bokuto until his most recent last night when they parted ways before Akaashi closed the tea room, an innocent kiss that still managed to leave Akaashi breathless and eager and longing for his next meeting.  
   
“One week?!” Hanamaki cried. “Doesn’t that break some kind of rule—?”  
   
Hanamaki closed his mouth to turn to Iwaizumi who bristled.  
   
“We weren’t official after one week!”  
   
“You kinda were. I know you didn’t announce it until a month later, but it was pretty obvious. Actually, we were all wondering why you bothered to delay the inevitable.”  
   
Amidst the bickering, Shirofuku leaned around Konoha. “What was he like, Akaashi-kun? If you don’t mind me asking.”  
   
After watching Ushijima play live for the first time and meeting him afterwards for dinner, Akaashi relayed parts of the game he found most memorable which made Ushijima smile – genuinely smile, not a small grin or twitch to the corner of his lips – which stayed throughout the whole of their meal.  
   
When they travelled to Hakone for their first trip together, their first time sharing an onsen, their first night of intimacy, Ushijima showed control and respect, never pushing Akaashi out of his limits, never exerting his power, just keeping their rhythm slow and steady.  
   
Seeing his apartment and noticing hints of Ushijima’s presence – a jacket left behind on a warm day, spare clothes in his wardrobe at the ready, his own mug, an extra toothbrush – symbolised a growing relationship, one that was strong and comforting like Ushijima himself. Akaashi had even come to imagine a day when they would both have one place to return to, calling each other home.  
   
“He was devoted,” Akaashi finally said, condensing his bittersweet memories into a single word that couldn’t begin to describe the emotions weaved into his memories. “There was never any doubt of how he felt—”  
   
Until that night.  
   
“Sounds like a real catch,” Konoha said, oblivious to Akaashi’s change in demeanour.  
   
“He wasn’t.”  
   
Hanamaki leaned back with a frown to look Iwaizumi up and down. “Iwaizumi, what is your beef with this guy?”  
   
“Iwaizumi-san has always considered Ushijima-san to be self-centred and negligent because he prioritised the sport over the relationship.” Akaashi looked to Iwaizumi. “You know I maintain that never bothered me.”  
   
“You can say that because you weren’t the one having to see your face every time you watched him leave.”  
   
Akaashi faltered under Iwaizumi’s observant gaze. “You never told me this.”  
   
“I already complained about him to drive you up the wall, I didn’t need to push you over the edge of it. You know, you’ve got this thing in your head where you believe – wrong, by the way – that you’re about as emotional and expressive as a rock, but with an eye for detail and a little attention, it’s not that hard to read you.”  
   
Bokuto had said similar (albeit in a gently comical and roundabout way.) Going from being constantly reminded of his signature deadpan expression to being surrounded by people like Iwaizumi and Bokuto – even everyone present around the table and others not such as Oikawa and Kuroo – who could read his emotions and discern his thoughts was consoling as it was disconcerting.  
   
But if what Iwaizumi said was true, what else had he picked up on when Akaashi had believed leaving matters unsaid would keep them hidden? What else had Iwaizumi thought when they finally met after the breakup or during the time they worked together?  
   
Had Akaashi been so ignorant?

 

*

 

“Iwaizumi-san.”  
   
Akaashi sat holding a mug and a phone, one-handedly replying to emails since sitting down ten minutes ago. His notes and reading were stacked ready in the small space that wasn’t occupied by Iwaizumi’s coffee – or Iwaizumi himself collapsed and sprawled over the table. Sending his last message and accomplishing his task of clearing his inbox, he hoped he could also accomplish his next task of completing a large chunk of reading.  
   
“Iwaizumi-san, are you asleep?”  
   
“No,” Iwaizumi said. “I’m trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life.”  
   
“Then would you mind doing that over your side of the table so that I may study.”  
   
Iwaizumi sat up and flopped over to lean back against his chair, staring at the ceiling. Akaashi wasted no time in spreading out his books and getting to work. It wasn’t that he was unsympathetic to Iwaizumi’s plight, only that over the last two months Iwaizumi had been spouting different versions of the same complaint and though Akaashi had patience it also had its limits.  
   
“Akaashi, I have no offers.”  
   
“You could find casual labour to keep you afloat. Or extend your current job to full time. So long as you don’t leave a gap between graduating and working, other companies will hire you,” Akaashi said, a different version of the same piece of advice. He began to take notes and paused at the vibration from his phone, quickly checking to find a message from Ushijima letting him know he would arrive in a few minutes. It was worth coming to the cafe near his training facility just for the odd occasion where Ushijima could spare some time to see him.  
   
He tucked his phone away and was about to continue when he noticed Iwaizumi staring at him.  
   
“Have you worked out a plan?”  
   
“Was that Ushijima?”  
   
Akaashi lowered his head, hoping this would be enough of a sign that he was too busy to enter the other conversation Iwaizumi recently liked to reiterate. “Yes, he’ll be joining us shortly.”  
   
“How long for?”  
   
“As long as time permits.”  
   
Even as pen scratched paper, pausing occasionally at the flip of a page, Akaashi could feel the stare and there was only so much pressure he could endure.  
   
With a sigh, Akaashi put down his pen and straightened up. “I suggest verbalising whatever it is you have to say, I lack the ability to spontaneously know your thoughts.”  
   
Iwaizumi didn’t waste a second. “You don’t see him a lot.”  
   
“Because he’s busy with practice and various other demands that come with being a sportsman.”  
   
“What about demands outside work?”  
   
“I take it you mean my demands, the ones I don’t have. I entered the relationship with a good understanding of what it would entail and what he required, and committed to offering my full support. If your concern is that we don’t see each other enough, allow me to remind you that many couples go for extended periods of time without seeing each other due to living at separate locations spanning the globe.”  
   
“I’m not talking about other people. I’m talking about you, and what you can deal with.”  
   
Akaashi frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Do you think I’m unable to cope?”  
   
Iwaizumi rolled his eyes at the accusation. “I’ll tell you what I think – I think you don’t make any demands not because you don’t have any, but because you feel like they’re not worth mentioning, and I think the amount of time you don’t spend with him affects you more than you realise.”  
   
Iwaizumi didn’t speak with the same defensiveness, just objectively stated the facts, and for some reason this irked Akaashi. He opened his mouth to retaliate when he caught sight of a familiar face walking towards them, and he dropped his current exchange.  
   
“Ushijima-san.”  
   
“Akaashi. Iwaizumi.” Ushijima greeted them as he always did then took his seat. Iwaizumi’s own greeting of Ushijima’s name – despite finding fault with the man merely seconds ago – was surprisingly civil.  
   
“I have only half an hour,” Ushijima said, drawing Akaashi’s attention back onto him.  
   
“That’s plenty of time. I’m grateful you could come between engagements.”  
   
It was a lie. Time spent with Ushijima was never long enough as he immersed himself in their talk, drank in every second that always seemed to pick up speed into a rapid compared to the sluggish trickle filling up his empty days.  
   
Akaashi continued to question Ushijima on his practice and the current status of the team, about the upcoming tournaments and their tentative calendar, and Ushijima answered in his typically simple and direct manner, any personal opinion unbiased and pragmatic.  
   
And as quickly as Ushijima had arrived, he was checking the time and announcing his leave.  
   
“Are you guys gonna meet up again soon?” Iwaizumi spoke up, reminding Akaashi of his presence.  
   
“That would depend on Akaashi,” Ushijima answered, then looked to him. “Are you available this coming weekend?”  
   
Akaashi paused before answering. “Why do you ask?”  
   
“Next week is our weeklong vacation. I do not want to interrupt your studies during the weekday, but if you do not have plans over the weekend I hoped to take you on a short trip to the countryside.”  
   
To have Ushijima ask and take into consideration his schedule took Akaashi aback; warmth spread through his body from his core.  
   
“I have no plans,” Akaashi said quietly with a smile. “I would like to spend the weekend with you.”  
   
Ushijima wasn’t as obvious in expressing his happiness, although Akaashi liked to think he wasn’t imagining his eyes light up at the answer.  
   
“I will send you the details.” Ushijima stood up. “It was good to see you, Akaashi. And you, Iwaizumi.”  
   
Akaashi watched Ushijima walk to the door, pausing to hold it open for a group of three entering, and then exited; his gaze lingered long after he disappeared from sight. More often than not Ushijima leaving was followed with a sigh (sometimes bottled when Iwaizumi was with him) – this time he didn’t have any to release, and he turned to his books so he could conceal what was likely a ridiculous expression on his face.  
   
“You’re going to some lecture series this weekend.”  
   
The reality bomb was enough to wipe his face clean.  
   
For someone who had trouble recalling any of Akaashi’s repeated advice or insistence, it was curious how well Iwaizumi remembered the comment mentioned weeks ago in passing.  
   
He was right of course, Akaashi was planning to attend a day of lectures given by guest speakers well-known in his field, one that he had booked the day of ticket release several months in advance before they quickly sold out.  
   
“They are unrelated to my course,” Akaashi spoke into his notebook. “And there will always be others.”  
   
There probably wouldn’t, at least not with the same set of speakers which was the purpose of him going, but in this instance he would rather prioritise Ushijima. Ushijima would disapprove if he found out, what with his own priorities being the opposite, and as going anywhere during the weekday would be out of the question it would be a long while before another trip could be planned.  
   
A frustrated growl came from opposite the table and at the soft thunk Akaashi glanced up to find Iwaizumi's laptop in the table and him typing on his phone.  
   
“Shouldn’t you be leaving?”  
   
“I’m cancelling, I don’t have time for drinks when I’ve got jobs to hunt for.” Iwaizumi stopped typing. “And forget what I said earlier. I don’t have the right to criticise your relationship – it’s not like I can do better. He cares about you. In his own way.”  
   
This time it was Akaashi watching Iwaizumi finish typing into his phone and then resume his complaint on how hard it was to job hunt, falling silent as he focused. Akaashi put aside the odd feeling that he was missing something behind his words and he, too, returned to his work.

 

*

 

Iwaizumi’s behaviour made more sense with his earlier revelation. Whenever he accompanied Akaashi on his study trips he would always stay a long while, and though Akaashi wouldn’t go far as to say this was done out of pity, it also wouldn’t surprise him to find it was Iwaizumi’s way of offering reassurance.  
   
“Honestly, Iwaizumi, he doesn’t sound that bad,” Hanamaki’s heated insistence brought Akaashi back to the present. “So there were bits of his personality you didn’t like, it’s not much of a reason to hold a five year grudge against him – you weren’t even in the relationship!”  
   
Iwaizumi looked to be on the verge of snapping. “You don’t fucking get it because you weren’t fucking there to see it!”  
   
Matsukawa got up out of his chair and gestured to Hanamaki to do the same. “Come on – it’s too late for this.”  
   
Hanamaki shook his head, exasperated by Iwaizumi’s stubbornness, and switched seats.  
   
It dawned on Akaashi that Iwaizumi’s anger wasn’t aimed at Hanamaki, it was aimed at himself. After that particular cafe session Iwaizumi ceased his light pestering and resigned to the fact he wouldn’t be able to shift Akaashi’s opinion. But it was more than that – Iwaizumi could see what was happening and kept quiet for Akaashi’s sake, because Akaashi stubbornly refused to heed his warnings, and maybe even because he wanted to believe he was wrong about his observation on Ushijima and their relationship.  
   
“I think it’s about time I explained how we parted ways.”  
   
There was a twitch between Iwaizumi’s brows that asked if he was sure. Akaashi had never been so sure. It was why they were here tonight. It was why they had this distance ever since Iwaizumi’s graduation.  
   
In hindsight, the evidence had been in front of him. His gut instinct had warned him in preparation three evenings prior to the main event, when Ushijima had come to visit him after having spent four weeks abroad for a tournament.

 

*

 

“It is I, Ushijima.”  
   
Akaashi buzzed Ushijima through the front door of the building and hovered by the entrance until he heard footsteps approaching from down the corridor; he unlocked and opened the door to find him standing, ready to ring the bell.  
   
Ushijima seemed distant as he walked through, his quietness potent, an indication that he was ruminating.  
   
No, distant wasn’t the right word, and Akaashi sifted for a better expression for his unease. It wasn’t the distance between them had grown, so the appropriate word would be—  
   
Guarded.  
   
An invisible barrier surrounded him, an aura that prevented Akaashi from entering. Had something happened during his time abroad? Akaashi had watched some of the matches between writing. No one had been injured, and though they didn’t make the finals they fought hard; Ushijima had been unaffected by worse outcomes.  
   
“I’ll make you some tea.”  
   
Something was wrong. He felt it as he waited for the water to boil and twisted and untwisted the lid from the can of tea leaves, and as he returned to place the steaming tea on the coffee table. He felt it as Ushijima uttered a quiet “thank you” and left his drink to cool.  
   
Akaashi couldn’t force the answer out of him, so he did what he was able – leaving him in peace.  
   
“Ushijima-san, I’m going to continue with my essay.” He received no response, so added, “I hope you know I’m here for you.”  
   
There was no movement except for his gaze shifting onto Akaashi, resting there for a good minute. During that time Akaashi remained still, though his own gaze flickered restlessly about the room.  
   
“I know,” Ushijima eventually said. “Thank you.”  
   
Akaashi waited to see if there would be anything else, but Ushijima went back to staring at the table.  
   
“I’ll be in the bedroom should you need me,” Akaashi reiterated, making his way to the other room, back to his open laptop displaying threads of sentences scattered incoherently about the page. He determined the reason for the dark fear in the pit of his stomach to be the looming deadline for his essay and forced himself to focus, each letter typed in an effort to suppress the uncertainty growing in his chest.  
   
“Akaashi.”  
   
Ushijima stood by the doorway. A quick glance at the clock and he calculated roughly an hour had passed.  
   
“I have been scouted by a team outside of Japan.”  
   
Slowly Akaashi put his hands onto his lap, threading his fingers together. “Where?”  
   
“The United States.”  
   
Akaashi couldn’t say he was shocked; any country would covet Ushijima, yearn to place a man of his calibre on their team. The U.S. had one of the top ranking teams in the world. It was more surprising they had waited so long to approach him.  
   
“That’s a high honour. I assume you’ll accept?”  
   
“I have yet to answer.”  
   
Secretly, Akaashi was certain he would accept.  
   
Successful long distance relationships weren’t unheard of, and though Akaashi had already accepted a job offer, he was doing as many students in his position did – applying for anything he could without being especially concerned about the details of his work and accepting one solely on the basis of security.  
   
Going abroad could be an option. Perhaps he should research the job market in the surrounding areas of Ushijima’s placement.  
   
“You know I will always respect and support your decision,” Akaashi reminded, even though he had a feeling Ushijima already knew.  
   
Ushijima came to stand by his desk. “Yes. That is one of the reasons I am with you.”  
   
It sounded wrong. He had heard this phrase before and yet this time it felt warped, no longer slotting perfectly into the place inside his heart. It was almost as if he was giving himself a reason, as if—  
   
Akaashi tightened his grip on his hands as Ushijima leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, on his jaw, on the side of his neck. He shivered; his body had been missing the attention and it responded immediately to the carefully placed touches, his mental chatter replaced by the sensation of Ushijima’s lips on his skin. He tried to draw his focus back, to figure out what was amiss—  
   
Ushijima took hold of his hands, unravelling his fingers one by one and loosening the grip Akaashi had around his thoughts.  
   
He was being paranoid. He was overthinking.  
   
He gave in.

  


  


  


  
He didn’t see him for three days.  
   
Any spare moment was spent thinking about the unease that had settled rather than disappeared after that night, their intercourse feeling as stilted as their conversation. Ushijima’s moves went from methodical to mechanical, his touches diligent to detached. Akaashi wanted to excuse Ushijima’s awkwardness as being preoccupied with his decision making, but it wasn’t in his personality to act without complete attention.  
   
When Ushijima entered his apartment again, settling down on the sofa, Akaashi sensed the barrier had widened, hardened and worse – Ushijima had emotionally distanced himself far behind it.  
   
“Akaashi,” Ushijima said, stopping Akaashi just as he was about to head to the kitchen. “I have decided to accept the offer.”  
   
“I assumed you might, it’s a logical next step forward in your career.” Akaashi wondered where the calm was coming from, because his nerves were overwrought.  
   
Ushijima nodded. “I believe playing abroad will bring new insight into the game and playstyle.”  
   
Akaashi managed a strained smile. “I’m happy for you.”  
   
His smile went unreturned, and his own expression shifted to reflect this. “Ushijima-san... is something wrong?”  
   
“We need to discuss our relationship—”  
   
“I conceived of a few possibilities,” Akaashi said, a little too quickly. “I was hoping to discuss them with you—”  
  
“I think it would be in our best interests if we were to separate.”  
   
A cold sensation washed over him, numbing him physically, mentally, only the statement burning clear. He must have heard wrong, or perhaps Ushijima meant separate to mean long distance; knowing him he was using the word that made sense in his head but didn’t necessarily translate well to anyone else who heard.  
   
“Could you please rephrase that?”  
   
Ushijima’s expression didn’t change. “It would be best if we terminated our relationship.”  
   
This wasn’t one of the options Akaashi had considered. In fact it was so beyond the range of considerations it had been non-existent, so how could it suddenly creep up out of nowhere and punch a hole through his heart?  
   
His hands wrapped behind his back smarted from the way he dug his nails into his skin to stop tears from welling in his eyes. A few seconds and he had control of his throat.  
   
“Why?”  
   
He could barely manage to breathe that one word.  
   
Ushijima’s chest heaved from the large intake of breath.  
   
“I have been feeling that our relationship has stagnated as of late. Although our exchanges are enjoyable, it doesn’t provide the stimulation necessary for my discipline – rather, it accentuates my shortcomings and I have yet to find an acceptable means of overcoming them.”  
  
They had been moving forward, hadn’t they? Three years' worth of memories and emotions stored with plenty of room for more – for all the years time allowed. Or had this only applied to him while Ushijima felt he was being restrained?  
   
“I don’t—” Akaashi’s voice was brittle and he cleared his throat, furrowing his brows as he tried to keep his emotions under control. “You never mentioned you were dissatisfied.”  
   
“I have been giving it some thought over the past few months, but recent changes brought the issue forward. Our relationship is... comfortable.” Ushijima frowned at the word, like it tasted sour. “While it doesn’t impair my lifestyle I also fail to see any improvements, which begs the question – is there any meaning for us to continue as we are?”  
  
_My lifestyle_. As though their relationship had been built solely for the purpose of providing him fulfillment with no regard to how it affected Akaashi. Or was it that Akaashi’s lifestyle was so meagre it didn’t bear thinking about?  
   
Anger swept through him, plastered the crackle in his voice and reinforced his words. “I gave the issue serious thought, even considered moving across the world after my course was done. I may have been unaware of your feelings, but now that you have admitted your concerns we can think of ways to improve our relationship.”  
   
Akaashi debated whether or not to add the final strike to hammer home his point, then softly said, “Together.”  
   
Ushijima seemed unmoved, this point unable to penetrate the thick skin. “Perhaps. But you still have six months of your studies remaining. In other words, six months of distance.”  
  
“Do you think I’m unable to cope?” Something about those words snagged him, a faint feeling of déjà vu.  
   
“Not unable, but neither fully able. I foresee you would be more affected by the distance than I, however that in turn would also have an effect on me, and subsequently my performance. How can we exert our fullest capabilities to our respective commitments if we face such distractions?”  
   
This was the first time Akaashi had encountered the full extent of Ushijima’s bullheadedness. The problem was his argument was sound and his prediction likely correct. Akaashi knew the long distance would affect him to a certain extent. On the other hand, he also knew he wouldn’t let this take over his life completely because it would drag Ushijima back. He was used to going through periods of not seeing Ushijima, sometimes weeks at a time, he failed to see how that would be so different when extended over a span of several months.  
   
Ushijima’s words on their very first date echoed in his head and realisation hit him.  
   
“You think I’m impeding your personal development.”  
   
Immediately after his utterance, Akaashi felt his chest split apart. He had given his all into the relationship, but if his effort wasn’t enough, if he lacked the ability to inspire, what use was he to Ushijima?  
   
What use would he be to anyone?  
   
Ushijima remained silent, neither confirming nor denying his statement, until he stood up in readiness to leave the room – to leave Akaashi’s life.  
   
“I will give you some space,” Ushijima said, then made a move towards the door.  
   
“Do you not… feel anything?” Akaashi called in desperation, squeezing out his question through his constrictions.  
   
Ushijima paused.  
   
“I feel regret.”  
   
With those three words Ushijima disappeared out of the room; Akaashi was abandoned.  
   
The distant thud of the front door signalled his emotions dissolved and concentrated into heavy drops to spill over with every rapid blink, flowing faster than he could rub away; he rubbed harder and harder until he was pressing his fingers against his eyes to force them shut, willing the deluge to stop.  
   
It didn’t.  
   
Salt water streaked down the structure built over the days and weeks and years, eroding its walls; frenetic tremors fractured the foundation with crooked cracks—  
   
_Regret._  
   
Regret _what_ – committing to a relationship turned worthless, choosing Akaashi from the very start, wasting away the three years? Was it because he changed? Or because he hadn’t? What had he done? Or not done? Was _he_ the one who had been self-centred, too absorbed in his studies to care about what Ushijima wanted – _required –_ out of him? Would not chasing after Ushijima indicate he was letting him go because he had never been his prime concern? Or would chasing after him display how reliant he had become on the man? He had to choose, to decide, to act—  
   
Akaashi collapsed – along with his relationship, along with his _life_ – crumpling to the ground, and he gasped and wheezed from inhaling the fumes of his relationship demolished to dust.  
   
He had to get out.  
   
Akaashi lifted his head, this new objective stopping up his tears, a rush of air from his sharp breath clearing aside his feelings and questions long enough for him to leap up to his feet and stumble to his room to grab his phone and keys; he caught sight of his essay, cursor blinking back at him and he hesitated, for a second, until his vision blurred and he turned his back on the expectant glare, keeping his eyes on the wooden floor all the way to the entrance where he shoved and ground his feet into his trainers and he threw himself out of his apartment, barely remembering to lock the door, slamming his palm against the wood to stun his hand, to stop it shaking long enough so he could push the key into the hole and hear the click finally release him from his apartment that contained everything of him, of Ushijima, _of them_ , except now there was no them.  
   
He ran.

 

*

 

The silence was heavy. The air, suffocating.  
   
Throughout the whole retelling Iwaizumi kept his focus on Akaashi who had fixed his gaze onto the table. He clenched his jaw so hard he was sure his teeth were going to crack, and his hands were tightly curled into fists on his lap, throbbing from the built-up power with no outlet for release.  
   
A sharp scrape cut through the silence as Akaashi stood up, his quiet “excuse me” thick and ready to break any second. Akaashi walked away with controlled steps round to the back until the back door creaked open and closed.  
  
Iwaizumi thought his rage couldn’t burn harder. He couldn’t go so far as to purely hate the man – he knew Ushijima didn’t deliberately go out of his way to hurt people – but he desperately wished he could because it would give him an excuse to punch him more than the once he had been planning if they ever came face to face again. It was a stupid, childish reaction, but it was all he could think of doing.  
   
He slammed his fist onto the table, ceramics rattling in shock.  
   
“I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” Hanamaki blurted. Iwaizumi had forgotten he wasn’t alone. “I shouldn’t have put my foot in it. I shouldn’t have stayed.”  
   
Matsukawa shifted, then patted Hanamaki on the arm. “It wasn’t just you.”  
   
Iwaizumi released a long sigh, trying to expel some of the anger. It helped somewhat, as did being among company. “He wouldn’t have talked about it if he didn’t want to.”  
   
“Shit,” Konoha slowly breathed. “I knew something bad must have happened when I met him but… What Ushijima said, that was out of order.”  
   
“I don’t know what kind of person Ushijima-san is,” Shirofuku began with a small frown, “but he doesn’t seem like the type to intentionally say something so hurtful.” She glanced at Iwaizumi for confirmation.  
   
“That’s the thing. He says things as they are without thinking about how it affects others. To him he’s just stating the truth.” Iwaizumi didn’t like the sound of that. He tried again. “What he thinks is the truth.”  
   
“Was this what you were talking about the night Akaashi-kun left early?”  
   
Iwaizumi looked down at his untouched tea no longer steaming. “We never talked about his breakup. I’d already graduated and was working way outside of Tokyo, and when we met up again he didn’t mention it. And I didn’t want to force it out of him. But then that thing with Bokuto brought it all out – I guess I had enough of watching him make himself miserable.  
   
“Akaashi looks strong, acts strong, but – he’s sensitive, and Ushijima didn’t get it. How do you convince someone their partner isn’t right for them when they’re so sure they are? You can’t, you’ve got to let them figure it out themselves. You hope for the best and pray you’re wrong. And if it turns out you’re right... you do what you can for them.”  
   
There were so many things Iwaizumi wished right now. Anything that would have helped ease Akaashi’s torment – anything to stop him having to experience the torment in the first place.  
   
But there was nothing he could do. Nothing about what was past anyway.  
   
Iwaizumi pushed himself off the chair. “I’m gonna go speak to him.”  
   
On his way to the door he glanced at the shelves of tea and slowed his steps to a stop.  
   
“Uh...” Iwaizumi turned back round to the table. “Any suggestions on a good tea for a situation like this?”  
   
Four variations of a smile immediately flashed back at him, silently cheering him on.


End file.
